


Sightless

by Desdimonda



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Sex, F/M, First Time, Hair-pulling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poetic Porn, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Senses, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 05:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: Set late night of day 9 of 7’s route, just before they leave for Mint Eye, and after the phone call where you call him while you’re lying next to him on bed.———Luciel and Nia can’t sleep and have been lying beside each other for hours, talking, thinking, resting, worrying about tomorrow. But in the end, for a moment, there’s only really one thing on their mind.





	Sightless

_ “Hang up. I want to whisper in your ear what I feel.” _

It had felt like minutes since Nia had hung up, but her phone was still pressed to her ear, fingers clutching it tight.

His words had begun as a request. But the longer they lay here in the darkness, licked by the shawl of moonlight, touched by the tinny notes of Chopin, twinkling from his laptop, it became a demand. 

“Nia.” 

The way he formed her name, a limbo between the cruel man who’d surfaced when he’d walked inside, and the jovial boy he’d left at the door. Or tried to. But it was never so binary that they were split. It would just take time for him to see that, and allow that.

Time. 

Her hand dropped, letting slip her phone. Luciel caught it, then set it on the bedside table, stretching over her languid body, slowly. She expected to feel the soft brush of his hoodie against her skin. 

But she just felt skin,

When had he taken it off? 

_ What _ had he taken off?

Peering through the dark, squinting, the moonlight caught the curve of his bare shoulder, of his collarbone, carving against skin as he slowly moved back to her side, the trickle of his fingers catching her waist, featherlight.

Nia’s lips, parted.

His fingers sat still, moulding to the shape of her still clothed waist. She was sure she could feel the rhythm of his heart through them. Or maybe they just shook. 

“I hung up.” 

Luciel smiled. She could tell from the way his eyes narrowed. The moon had crested high, catching the gold of his eyes as if it melted with every blink. Maybe it did. They looked different every time she looked. This way - she tilted her head; that way - she peered up, watching his brows knit.

“What?” His voice rasped, barely there. 

He looked away, so conscious of her gaze.

Was he blushing?

Nia wriggled free a hand and touched his cheek. It was hot. It was smooth. One by one she rolled her fingers across the soft skin, feeling his unseen blush, imagining, as if she already knew. 

Was this the first time she’d touched his face?

Yes.

The fingers at her waist pushed harder. They nudged the edge of her top, away, blunt nails scratching her rolled flesh. Nia felt his restraint through the singular touch. It shook. It waned. It wilted. She didn’t want him to hold back anymore. 

Within hours, they were going to leave for the unknown. They had to have belief they’d come back as three, not two. But maybe they might not come back at all. 

Nia wanted to imprint what they’d found together on this world, even if she might not be here tomorrow to remember it. 

“You’re blushing, aren’t you?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. 

Fingers pushed up, up her top, until they grazed the edge of her breast, unashamed. One finger, two fingers, more, until he held it in palm, nipple between thumb and finger.

Nia shifted her whole body from that small touch, legs curving, arms twisting, fingers dancing across his cheek, painting warm to warm. She nudged the edge of his glasses, and paused, a short nail tracing the plastic edge.

Nia pulled.

His glasses came off, held in her hand. She tried not to gasp, but she did. They made his eyes, small. But bare, they were even more beautiful, their liquid gold widening as she set them aside, a wry smile on her lips.

So he thought.

The hand that was on her breast, touched her lips, pressing against licked flesh. 

He was right.

“Do you know how short sighted I am?” he drawled, shifting closer. 

_ Closer. _

Nia smiled, nudging his hand up to her own glasses. “As bad as me I think.”

Luciel dipped his head, yellow eyes narrowing as he pulled off her glasses too, fumbling as he tried to place them on the bedside table as he leaned over. They heard them drop to the floor. 

“Later,” whispered Nia, catching his ear as he leaned over, shoulder to shoulder, the tips of their red hair mixing, meeting.

She felt him tense. They’d never been this close. 

Luciel looked down, but she was a messy blur, tinged with red, with a stripe of moonlight, catching a glint of green as she blinked; as she blinked.

He leaned closer.

_ Closer. _

They touched. Noses brushing, breath shared, eyes trying to discern a single detail. But it was futile. What little sight mattered now. 

There was so much more that  _ did.  _

Luciel closed his eyes, and kissed.

He’d kissed in the dark many times. A distraction. A lure. A mission. Or just something to forget. But this was something he wanted to remember. It was an odd desire to want permanence.

It still didn’t fit into his hands. But somehow, she did. 

She’d persisted when he’d shed the facade and seen the truth. It hadn’t scared her. Angered her, yes. Frustrated her. But never had she turned away. She’d only turned towards.

Just like now.

Her hair was tangled as he touched it, matted at the sides where she’d been lying, watching him. He eased the knots as they kissed, the scratches against her scalp drawing a soft, subtle moan. 

He scratched again, deliberately. 

_ Moan. _

Nia felt the smile through their kiss.

She returned the scratch, but drew it down his back, lightly. From nape, to tail. 

Oh.

Their kiss slipped, Luciel’s lips dragging along her jaw, a whimper soon painting her neck. She tasted of her cello, the residue of the wood, of the resin, tipped on her neck from earlier when she was practising. He loved to watch her play. The way her fingers glided against the strings, pulling note by note; the way she poised the bow, bending it to her will. But just...listening, was sometimes  _ enough.  _

Each note plucked, played, every note composed, existed because of her in that moment. 

He wanted to compose her a melody, now. But she’d already begun.

He kissed her neck, teeth dragging along salted skin, making his mark. He paused, lips pursing, and  _ bit.  _

“ _ Luciel.”  _

His name fell. A ragged beg, a rough cry, a companion, as her hips buckled, meeting his. He nearly collapsed, as body, met body. He’d been so hard for so long, as they’d lay here. Talking, looking, breathing, wanting. And now she was-

-there.

Here.

_ His. _

A messy, blind hand scrambled down her side, clutching her steady, holding her there, need to need. Clothes rubbed a barrier between, but he could feel her wrap around. The way her thighs slipped against his jeans, finding traction. The way her underwear moved, edging to the side as he pressed against her, letting her  _ know.  _

He lapped the bite mark. The moonlight and proximity let him. He kissed again. Then along. Then up. Then her lips again. He missed them already. She tasted sweet. Of the wine she’d had earlier. Courage, perhaps. For tomorrow. Or this. 

He pulled back, gasping sharply as she sunk a hand beneath his jeans, fingers tapping one, by one, against his cock. 

Or that.

He’d given up trying to see, but he could  _ feel.  _

Hands pushed away her top, thin straps catching her hair. She giggled, softly. The noise was light, bright. 

She curled her fingers around his cock, moving slow, feeling the way he gave with every touch. One, and one, and one. Luciel dropped his forehead to her chest, trembling, his breaths fogging her skin. He kissed away the dew, as he listened to the beat of her heart. Thump, thump. It kissed his forehead, painted red in damp strands of hair, even though neither could see.

He’d been touched before. But he’d never wanted to remember.

_ Permanence. _

_ Permanent. _

_ Mine. _

Luciel bit. 

Teeth sank into her breast, crowning just above her peaked nipple. And he marked. He marked a memory, washed with a moan. Another bite followed. Another. At least if something happened tomorrow, they’d had...this.

A pluck of melancholy held him, but it was soon extinguished by her pleas.

A roll of her hand and he almost collapsed. Hands twisted into the sheets at her thighs as he tried to push himself up. He wasn’t going to last long beneath that touch. Even breathing was intense when he couldn’t see. 

But he needed more.

Gasping against her stomach, Luciel shakily pushed himself up to kiss, fumbling, as he tried to find her head to hold. Nia didn’t relent, her hand pulling twists of pleasure from his cock, continually. 

It was almost too much. 

Luciel grabbed her arm, pulling it free. He heard her hiss at the absence of touch, but it wouldn’t last long. He shifted behind her, kicking off the last of his clothes. Nothing was done by sight anymore, so he just closed his eyes. 

He felt where she lay, legs pointed, but restless, as she waited. Breasts were damp from his bites, his kisses, shifting with her erratic breaths - shallow, raspy, but oddly melodic. Every sound she made was. Her voice, her laugh, was musical. Like every sound was composed for him. A trill here, a quaver, a vibrato, sotto. 

Now though, she breathed loud.

A moan slipped through, unhinged. 

He felt her arm move. It stretched, reaching back, fingers seeking his hair, scratching his scalp in a silent beg. But he’d already begun.

How had he not noticed the way her hip bone jutted like that before. Hidden, beneath soft flesh, he supposed. But now, it exposed, pushed, as she lay on her side, legs bent, restless. He traced the way it felt as fingers skimmed past her waist, curving around-

-and around.

Silent, she begged for him. Silent, her back ached, pushing her slit towards fingers that danced delicately close - but not quite  _ yet.  _

He felt a scar raised on her inner thigh. Another. A mole, pinched between. Up, and up he drew his fingers, listening now to a beg that was no longer silent. Here, her skin was soft, but not smooth. Ripples of stretch marks painted skin. He imagined the silvery licks, feathery beneath his fingers. She was no delicate flower, but parts of her were. 

“ _ Luciel _ -“

His name touched his ears in a strangled whisper. He smiled against her shoulder.

Luciel. A choice. But was it really him anymore? Who  _ was  _ he? The name, tasted on her lips felt better than anyone else saying it - especially himself. But he still wasn’t sure if it felt right anymore. Dare he tell her his real name? He wondered how that might sound from her lips. 

He parted his lips. 

He almost told her. He almost wanted to hear her cry it out tonight, if tomorrow-

Nia took his hand. She pulled, dragging his fingers along her damp slit _. _

_ “ _ Impatient,” he drawled against her neck, as he slipped a finger, in.

She snapped her hand around his hair, pulling hard.

“You’re slow,” she staggered.

“Oh?”

He’d kept pace. But now, he  _ slowed.  _ His strokes edged to the slightest motion, his finger barely moving across her clit.

A soft laugh brushed against her ear. Then a kiss. Then a bite sank into her neck. But it was light, echoing his touch. Everything was slow now, soft and achingly languid. “This,” he whispered. “Is slow.”

Nia moved with him. She needed every last nuance of touch that he achingly dragged along her wet skin. She made sure to push back against him, grinding, feeling, touching - yet not. 

A shudder. A piqued groan. It worked.

His finger slipped, a blunt nail catching her folds. She bit her lip.

“You’re testing me,” he teased, ending the words with a kiss against her ear.

“Says you.”

He laughed again. A short, quiet bark of a laugh she’d grown to love. Maybe even the first thing of their phone calls she remembered. Now it brushed against her ear, here.

He curled his fingers again, but this time, quicker. Nia could feel them tremble. Days of withheld want uncoiling, and he was still trying to hold back. She didn’t want that. He’d spent so long holding how he’d really felt because of fear, uncertainty, self worth. And now they at last stood on the same level, hands to hearts, she wanted to see what his desire  _ meant. _

Especially since she might have to utter goodbye, before barely even saying  _ hello. _

Patience, cracked.

She pushed back against his bare length again, knowing this would probably-

- _ break. _

Before her next breath, she was face first onto the bed, one hand holding her restless arm down, while his knee pressed the other in place. Nia smiled against the soft fabric of the bed, breathing deeply.

“Is this what you want?” he asked against her neck, expecting no answer. He slipped a damp hand between her hair, and took a firm hold. 

“Only if it’s what you want,” she drawled, peering behind her shoulder, just before he pulled her hair and thrust inside, giving her his answer. 

She could barely move. Luciel held her so tight in place; hands and knees, and thighs. A firm, but wanted shroud of control, biting against her flesh, sweetly, neatly. It shuffled, it shifted, with him grazing her skin as he thrust with a rhythm quicker and needier than how he’d touched her. 

An urgency moved him, now. A desperation to show her she was wanted. 

Oh. But it had been there for  _ days.  _ Since before he’d come here, and been at her side. He remembered the way he’d watched her on the security feed, brushing her hair in the hallway mirror; the way she’d ‘ _ forgotten’ _ he could see her, and she’d shed her clothes beneath the camera’s lens, one, by one-

- _ he thrust faster, harder _ -

-the way she’d looked at it, smiling, waving; and that one time on the phone she’d done a little more than smile and wave, remembering the lightness of her words, the hitch of her breath-

- _ Nia bit the pillow, her nails scoring the sheets beneath his hold. _

Her hair slipped through his fingers when he’d meant to pull. His grip faltered. It meat only one thing. 

_ Not yet,  _ he chided to himself, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. A voyeur might believe he had the control, but it was all her. 

All her.

Her sweet sounds, wrapping around his ears, his head, his heart, invisible threads that didn’t let go, pricked with barb.

Her movement, rendering him  _ helpless,  _ to cling to what little bit of spine was left. And she knew; she knew. Every which way, she knew. At first, it was the point of her legs, her toes curling as they spoke-

- _ the tips of his red hair stuck to his salt damp skin, curling, coiling- _

Then she grew restless. Arms and hands and smiles. Touching him when she moved until he’d shed his hoodie when night fell-

_ -steady-steady- he splayed a hand across her back, lithe fingers pressing into soft skin, touched by the wash of moonlight that breathed through the blinds, line, by line, painting her as they moved- _

But the strongest thread of control, was simply her love. Bared. Given. 

And taken.

He’d let himself submit to the last thing in life he’d never truly had. And in that moment, he, was hers. As much as she, was his, even if the scales tipped one way or the other, at times. 

He smiled, rolling his tongue across teeth as he pressed fingers down, down the bumps of her spine. The sweetest of noises, the loudest of noises met his ears as he thrust harder, further, until there was nothing left to fill.

“ _ Luciel.” _

It wasn’t a whisper. It wasn’t a beg. It was a simple, song. He could barely see, but he  _ felt.  _  Her body shuddered beneath his, trembling in swathes of ecstasy, her fingers twisting, her teeth tearing the sheets as she came, so suddenly

And so did he. A fistful of hair yanked her head from the pillow, pulling her around as he kissed, near swallowing her whole as he held her tight, feeling his own pleasure  _ through  _ her.

He had to pull back to breathe, golden eyes searching for green, barely seen. One breath was enough before he kissed again. 

But that was the mistake. He’d let her free.

For in that second, he was on his back, Nia straddling his breathless body, as two hands delicately eased around his neck, thumbs cresting the curve of his neck.

“My turn.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
